


The Burn of Whiskey Down His Throat

by Garden_Beast



Series: Aftertaste [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, M/M, Victor's more... of a fantasy in this than an actual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garden_Beast/pseuds/Garden_Beast
Summary: Yuuri spends his 21st birthday with Phichit in Detroit. There to join them are a few bottles of spirits and the many posters of Victor Nikiforov plastered along Yuuri's bedroom wall.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotSaviForWork](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=NotSaviForWork).
  * Inspired by [Phichit And Yuuri Back in Detroit](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/258899) by NotSaviForWork. 



> I am such a fan of notsaviforwork's piece of Yuuri and Phichit that I couldn't help but make a bit of fanwork for her myself! The link for the curious: http://notsaviforwork.tumblr.com/post/155321620953/phichit-and-yuuri-back-in-detroit-phichit-is-a

American beer was just  _ awful.  _ Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down the rest, silently wishing his twenty-first birthday didn’t taste so much like alcohol and hops. “Is it good?” Phichit asked, grinning at him before he took a long gulp of his own. It was almost disconcerting just how good at drinking he was-- American law stated that the legal drinking age was 21, and yet at 18, Phichit was chugging down some sort of… terrible brew like the rest of them. 

 

“It’s interesting,” he answered as honestly as he could, biting back a look of disgust. It must not have been very convincing, the way Phichit threw his head back and laughed. 

 

“That’s okay! I’ve also got…” he pulled two more bottles out of his bag: one clear, and the other a dark amber color. “Some vodka and some Fireball-- the basics,” he explained, pulling out a shot glass. Yuuri only looked on with his brows knit together. Wasn’t this hard liquor? “Er-- they get you drunk without having to taste too much of it, that is; they’re more for just pounding down.” 

 

Right. Yuuri looked down into his beer, setting it aside. “Well, I’m not a fan of American beer, so.” He looked at both bottles, for the first time in his life intimidated by a  _ liquid _ . “Might as well try the others?” 

 

___

 

“He’s so  _ talented _ ,” Yuuri gushed, “Look at his quad toe loop, he just-- even his facial expression is graceful! Just like, just, like, what the  _ fuck _ ? My fuckin’ toe loops, they, just. It just... ” He was trying to communicate his penchant for scrunching his face for every jump, but sloshing his sixth shot of Fireball around as he gesticulated did the trick well enough. 

 

Phichit only laughed, clearly taking a video of Yuuri’s little rant. “So how badly do you want to suck his dick?” He giggled, all the while shakily recording his friend’s slurred response-- 

 

“ _ So  _ fucking badly, oh my god. He’d be so, so…” He could half imagine what Victor Nikiforov would look like, imperious and perfect, and Yuuri would know it would be a favor just to be in his presence, let alone  _ sucking  _ him-- 

 

“I knew it!” Phichit shouted, visibly tipsy, pointing to the small shrine of Nikiforov posters Yuuri had on his wall of the dorm, “I  _ knew  _ those weren’t just for inspiration!” 

 

Yuuri was on his feet in seconds, discounting the vertiginous moments spent standing up. “It was just-- I just--” 

 

“Everyone wants to, babe, you’re not alone,” Phichit interrupted, continuing, “Have you seen that face? That ass?” 

 

“God, that ass!” Yuuri cheered, lifting his shot glass to the sky and spilling it on his homework. “Fuck--” 

 

“You can-- you can use my ID to print another copy tomorrow,” Phichit, every ounce the obliging host, offered, pouring himself another shot of Fireball. “For that ass!” he shouted, and-- oh, Yuuri couldn’t help but join along. 

 

“For that ass!” They downed each other’s shots, hands crossing to pour a shot down the other’s throat. 

 

“Do you think he’d top, or bottom?” Phichit finally asked, pulling away to drink from his water bottle. 

 

Yuuri, inhibitions  _ vastly  _ lowered, answered quickly, “Both.” 

 

“Oh?” 

 

And here, Yuuri unbuttoned his shirt quietly, fanning himself in the newfound heat of the room-- did it get warmer in here? “He’s good at everything. Of course it’d apply to, well, this.” 

 

“What do you think he’s like, then?” Phichit asked, cocking a brow at Yuuri’s evident need to strip. He leaned back on his arms, and Yuuri very nearly felt abashed-- it was like Phichit was just… watching him. “How d’you think he’d put his hands on you?” 

 

Yuuri licked his lips, somehow feeling-- challenged? Was that what was happening? “Um,” he considered for a second, imagining Victor Nikiforov in front of him, sliding his hands around his body… Yuuri lifted his own hands up to his chest, his neck, and ran them through his hair. “He’d start, uh. Slow. Nice and slow.” Victor Nikiforov would be gentle, especially at first. His eyes would glide over Yuuri’s body, and he’d be well aware of what he was doing to Yuuri. He’d take his time, Yuuri thought-- he’d run his hands down his body, down his abdomen (Yuuri mirrored the move), back up to his nipples… “Just like this.” He thumbed at his nipples for just a moment, biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from making any noises. He ran his hands down to the v of his hips, down to his thighs, framing his-- Yuuri paused, opening his eyes and going red in the face. Phichit was still leaning back, staring and smiling at him. What was he doing?    
  
“Don’t stop,” Phichit pled softly, moving so that his elbows leaned on the table between them. Phichit was watching so carefully. Yuuri could almost feel the heat of his gaze all down his body. “What would he do next?” 

 

Blushing harder (not just because of the alcohol, now) Yuuri closed his eyes again and fell back into the fantasy. Victor Nikiforov unbuckling his belt. Victor Nikiforov unbuttoning his pants and undoing his zip. His hands would be so quick, so deft at anything they did… He pulled his prick out quietly, only letting out a soft moan as he sat on his bed and pressed his back against the wall. 

 

“How does it feel, Yuuri?” Phichit asked, voice-- a lot lower than Yuuri remembered. A little rough. “How does he feel against you?” 

 

Yuuri could only squeeze his eyes shut and let his mouth drop open as he held himself in hand, imagining--  _ yes _ \-- Victor’s hands. Victor’s voice. ‘How does it feel?’ “Good,” he sighed, slowly stroking up and down his prick. “Really, really good.” 

 

He felt the bed shift. He heard Phichit’s voice, now so much closer. “Yeah?” he asked, breath hot on Yuuri’s ear. “Can I… Um.” Phichit paused, and Yuuri opened his eyes long enough to watch him brush the hair out of his eyes, “Can I… Touch it? Like Victor would?” 

 

“Oh.” Yuuri’s head felt-- fuzzy. Everything around him was in a little bit of a haze, now, and he could only nod and beg, “Please. Yeah.” And-- oh, Phichit’s touch was so soft. So gentle, as he circled his thumb and fist around Yuuri and just… “Harder,” Yuuri insisted, pumping his hips into his roommate’s hand. He could hear Phichit’s breath against his neck. He could feel the soft velvet of his hand, warm and good and-- “More.” 

 

More what? What did he want? He was already being brought off by his best friend, wasn’t he? Yuuri was just about to apologize when he felt two fingers press against his lips. “Can I?” Phichit asked, voice breathy, and-- Yuuri opened his eyes to look at him, finding Phichit’s eyes glazed over. “Pl--” 

 

Yuuri took his friend’s fingers into his mouth without a second of hesitation. He’d never-- he’d never done this before. It was all so new, so strange, the taste of skin in his mouth, the hand around his cock. “Mm,” Yuuri moaned, licking at his fingers, imagining, just-- what if-- 

 

“So cute,” Phichit giggled, pressing his mouth against his fingers in what was absolutely the most filthy kiss Yuuri had ever had. “Do you wish these were Victor’s fingers? Or better-- his cock?” Yuuri moaned again, louder, sucking harder on Phichit’s digits and feeling a shiver run down his spine. Yes. Yes, yes, please, god, it was so good-- he grabbed at Phichit’s groin, finding him hard underneath his sweatpants, and-- “Oh,” he sighed into the touch, bucking his hips. Yuuri fucked into Phichit’s hips, gently, softly, now, overwhelmed by the wet sounds of skin on skin; the squelching of Phichit’s fingers in his mouth-- the sensation of having Victor Nikiforov, on him, around him,  _ in him _ . Victor’s breath on him, making him squirm; making his skin hot and his body shake. Victor’s arm snaking around his back, holding him close and supporting him, just as he-- as he-- 

 

“Ah!” he moaned, testicles tightening  _ hard _ \-- “Oh my god,” he panted, ducking his head into Phichit’s shoulder and staring down at Phichit’s cock, hard and red in his hand. Yuuri moved it, milking him, pulling and pushing at the skin of him; watching precome drip out of him like a faucet. Phichit was-- Yuuri lifted his head, looked at his face-- he was lost in this, his eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks red. And then Phichit’s breathing stopped, and something wet and sticky was on Yuuri’s fingers. 

 

Wide eyed, both Yuuri and Phichit looked one another in the face. Did they just... ? 

  
  


___

 

“So he’s actually your coach?!” Phichit shouted through the small screen of Yuuri’s cell phone, clearly shocked. “He’s…” Phichit covered his mouth and looked away, clearly amused. Yuuri could only bite his lower lip to try and cover the giggle. Both of them only held out for so long, before bursting into shared laughter at the very thought. Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri’s old fantasy, and now Yuuri’s coach.    
  
Face going grave, he looked Phichit in the eye as best as he could, pulling the phone close to his chest. “He can never know.” 

  
  



End file.
